Almost French

I get totally infatuated with almost all things French. It's been this way since my last visit to Paris over a year ago. I'm sure it doesn't help that I went to a school of French origin for nine years and that many things have stuck with me into adulthood. I have even entertained dropping everything and moving there to start a whole new life, there or Italy. I would take on a lover, have beautiful clothes, eat all the sumptuous foods, drink all the marvelous wines, all while maintaining an envious figure. I would be so chic and fabulous and speak fluent French with a perfect Parisian accent, because I would, after all, be living in the heart of the city.

After reading Sarah Turnbull's Almost French, her chronicle of moving to France on a whim to be with a French man and becoming a free lance writer inspired me to wonder what life would be like if I did move to France temporarily and then came back to the life I am currently living.It might not be such a good thing.

Dual Citizenship

She left for Paris to discover a new world.
When she got there, exhilarating adventures unfurled.
She danced in the glow of the Eiffel Tower
And absorbed from it its romantic power.
Every night she feasted on rare delights;
So filled with content, her eyes shone bright
Like the brilliantly colored glass in a local parfumerie.
She took in life’s entire splendor via Parisian majesty.
Never had she thought it possible to feel like this.
When she returned home, she knew she would miss
Her lover, the food, shopping, and snobbish accents;
Joie de vivre, great wine and cramped provincial apartments.
At home, she was now to be faced with a great challenge:
Not to compare her reacquired life with the French mélange
Of passions that were so easily expressed.
If not careful, her life would be a mess,
Not fitting in anymore with her friends
Because she had left so many loose ends
Untied across the great Atlantic.
The more she thought of it, she grew frantic.
Her ribs ached for the life she left there,
But still longed for the place where
Most of her beloved memories lived and breathed.
But could she keep these fresher memoirs sheathed,
So they would not cut her heart unexpectedly at every turn?
She loathed the always present acidic burn.

Where is home now?

©2005 Vicky Therese Davis

I guess I would just have to stay there. Pity, pity!